


Coquilles

by freudensteins_monster



Series: Corpses by Candlelight [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Aromantic Malcolm Bright, Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Dates, Gen, Grey-Asexual Malcolm Bright, Hannibal (TV) References, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre S01E03, Serial Killers, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freudensteins_monster/pseuds/freudensteins_monster
Summary: Malcolm's mother is threatening to set him up and his sister suggests he cut her off at the pass: There’s no point her trying to find you a date if you’re already dating someone.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Edrisa Tanaka, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly, Pre-Malcolm Bright/Edrisa Tanaka
Series: Corpses by Candlelight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551628
Comments: 26
Kudos: 113





	Coquilles

**Author's Note:**

> After the second episode of Prodigal Son I was lamenting that the show seemed to be angling towards the coupling of Malcolm and Powell, rather than the much more adorable (IMO) Malcolm and Tanaka. And then this happened.

Malcolm had woken with a start instead of his usual blood curdling scream, he’d taken his morning dosages and found he still had an appetite, the affirmation of the day made him smile instead of roll his eyes, and at 9am on the dot his mother called to say good morning.

Sigh. And it had started out as such a promising day.

Over the next ten minutes of inane rambling his mother complained about the state of her world - the disappointing quality of her champagne breakfast, her latest doctor’s hesitance to write overly generous prescriptions, and all the gossip from some $10k-a-plate fundraiser she attended the previous evening. Apparently one of her best frenemies, a woman Malcolm was supposed to know but swore blind he’d never heard of before, had a boorish son who had just announced his engagement to some minor social media personality.

“ _…And if that young man with his complete lack of looks, charm, personality, and a depressing inability to find a decent tailor can find a wife, I don’t see why you can’t find someone to put up with all your little quirks. We just need to get you out there, but we’ll talk about it over dinner on Thursday. See you then, dear.”_

The line disconnected before Malcolm had a chance to question the ominous “we” his mother was referring to, but brunch with his sister confirmed the worst – his mother was going to try her hand at matchmaking again.

“She’s determined, and she’s going to lay the guilt trip on thick after that whole finding-out-you-lied-about-visiting-dad thing.”

Malcolm sighed and made a pretty decent Rorschach pattern with his egg yolks, his earlier appetite unsurprisingly absent.

“The last time she tried to get me a date I ended up partnering Jocelyn Montgomery at her debutante ball.”

Ainsley smirked into her coffee. “Wasn’t she a lesbian?”

“And secretly dating the thirty-two year old married ball organiser. I accidentally outed them and the ensuing scandal caused the ball to be cancelled two days out.”

“That was such a train wreck,” Ainsley laughed. “I can’t believe mom wants to try again.”

“Honestly, I think my being at Quantico was the only thing stopping her trying something like this sooner. I don’t suppose you want to distract her with a pregnancy scare?”

Ainsley chucked her napkin at his head. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“C’mon,” he whined. “I’d owe you one.”

“Not even for an exclusive on your next case,” she swore, which was serious enough to make Malcolm give up on that particular idea.

“How can I get out of this?” he asked the heavens as a waiter cleared their table.

“You just need to head her off at the pass. Get a date on your own,” she clarified. “There’s no point her trying to find you a date if you’re already dating someone.”

Malcolm grimaced. That idea was hardly more appealing.

If forced to give himself a label Malcolm felt grey-sexual and aromantic seemed to fit best. He’d dated a little in the past, though most attempts ended in unmitigated disaster, but lately, whether it was due to his mental health issues or the excessive medication he took to keep him from spiralling further he was currently completely disinterested in sex, dating, or any variation of the two. Not that that answer would satisfy his mother and stop her scouring her social circle for an eligible bachelorette who wouldn’t run screaming at the thought of dating The Surgeon’s broken son.

“Find a date,” he mused as Ainsley took her leave before the bill showed up, the idea taking him from the café in midtown to the precinct. His first thought was to ask Powell to do him this little favour as she was sympathetic of his situation and kinder than she needed to be, but he had caught sight of the picture she used as her phone background earlier in the week, in particular the woman pressing a kiss to Powell’s cheek in said picture, and thought it best not to put her in a position to lie or out herself at work. So Malcolm headed for the morgue to proposition the only other woman not related to him that he interacted with on a semi-regular basis.

Malcolm arrived ten minutes early and was seated by an overly pompous maître d'. Edrisa had happily agreed to go to dinner with him, even after his ridiculous explanation as to why he was asking in the first place, and as luck would have it the only night she was available was Thursday. Unfortunately when he called his mother to let her know he wouldn’t be able to make dinner because he had a date she couldn’t simply feign happiness and let him live his life. Oh no, not Jessica Whitly. The moment Malcolm mentioned his date his mother demanded to know who his date was and where he was taking her to dinner. “Someone from the precinct” and “hitting a taco truck after work” were apparently unsatisfactory answers. While she couldn’t do anything about the who, she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to do something about the where. Which is how Malcolm Bright found himself forced into accepting an 8:30 reservation at a restaurant with a few Michelin Star to its name and more crystal chandeliers hanging from its ceiling than any one building had any right to. Edrisa had been a little thrown by the change of plans but thankfully didn’t cancel on him (Malcolm had no doubt his mother had paid the maître d' to confirm the existence and/or success of his date).

Edrisa arrived right on time, wearing a [simple black dress](https://media1.popsugar-assets.com/files/thumbor/-WfaX-zwsj8DO9Nca8fyPafQleo/fit-in/2048xorig/filters:format_auto-!!-:strip_icc-!!-/2017/04/10/974/n/1922283/3e8be0961f9b7457_GettyImages-663807660/i/Keiko-Agena-Mrs-Bradley.jpg) his mother would no doubt have had an opinion about and a nervous smile. Malcolm tried his hand at a reassuring smile and pulled her seat out.

“Thanks again for agreeing to this,” he said as he retook his seat.

“I was happy to. …You’re paying though, right?” she teased, glancing around the extravagant room.

“Don’t worry, my mom’s picking up the tab.” Malcolm winced, scolding himself for bringing up his mother before the appetisers had been served, something his sister had told him specifically not to do.

Edrisa dismissed his embarrassing admission with a wave of her hand. “I get it. Overinvolved mothers. Thank god my brother’s wife started popping out kids. My parents moved out to the West Coast two years ago to be closer to them and I haven’t had to put up with my mother’s matchmaking since.”

“Lucky,” he smirked as a waiter arrived to take their drink orders. Edrisa ordered a glass of whatever red wine the waiter recommended while Malcolm asked for a sparkling water with a slice of lemon. “Medication,” he deflected clumsily, once again bringing up subject he was supposed to avoid.

But what could he talk about? His chosen field of obsession? Too awful by far, his mother assured him. His hobbies? Not-sleeping and collecting sharp things didn’t count, as far as his sister was concerned. His family history of psychotic inclinations? That’s a big fat no.

What the hell did normal people talk about on dates?

“So…” Edrisa ventured awkwardly through the heavy silence. “How ‘bout those serial killings in Trenton?”

Malcolm almost laughed with relief. He had so many voices giving conflicting advice in his head he’d almost forgotten who he was sitting across from. _Picasso with formaldehyde._

“The Angel Maker? Yeah, that’s some gruesome stuff,” he said with a smile. “With the deteriorating state of America’s healthcare system, and its general disdain for mental healthcare in general, I’m honestly surprised by the lack of truly prolific visionary serials killers out there,” he added, freaking out the waiter who had returned with their drinks.

“…Are you ready to order?”

“I’m going to have the scallops. All the reviews for this place tell me I had to try it.”

“Well, my mother told me I had to get the foie gras tart or she would disown me, so I’m going to get the scallops too. Thanks.” Malcolm handed back the unopened menus and the waiter fled to the kitchen before he had to overhear anything else disturbing. “I only wish I still had my Bureau system access. I’d love to see some photos of the crimes scenes.”

Edrisa bit back a gleeful smile and fished out her phone. “It just so happens that I’m friends with the local M.E over there, and he might have sent me a copy of the initial police report – with photos.”

Malcolm couldn’t hide his excitement and made grabby hands for her phone. “Oh, wow,” flicking through the horrifyingly beautiful images of angels made flesh.

“I know right?” Edrisa changed seats so she go over the photos with him. “And according to what my friend heard, the killer committed suicide by somehow doing this to himself.”

“This would take such an extraordinary amount of planning and commitment. Remarkable for someone so lost in their delusions.” His lips curled in irritation. “I’m going to have to ask a favour of my old partner at the Bureau; I wanna to see that final report.”

“Promise you’ll share it with me?”

“Absolutely,” he swore, handing back her phone. “How about over tacos and beers next week?”

“It’s a date.”

Edrisa smiled, clinking their mismatched glasses together to seal their agreement, and Malcolm couldn’t help but smile back. He may not be ready for a full blown relationship just yet, but this was definitely the start of a beautiful friendship.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from an episode of Hannibal, the same episode I borrowed the Angel Maker serial killer from.
> 
> ALSO I haven't seen past episode two of Prodigal Son yet so no spoilers please.


End file.
